


So Kiss Me

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, And naked, Boys Kissing, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Humor, Geno and Sid being hot, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-10 02:44:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18651307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: After their game 3 loss to the Islanders at the PPG, Sid decides the guys need to get out of their heads. What better way than a party?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started this after game 2, while I was trying to finish another project. It's got one more chapter. No angst. In this fic, Hope Springs Eternal and g4 hasn't happened.
> 
> I am still gutted by the loss, and if you are too, I hope this helps fix it. #TilNextYear
> 
> The title comes from the song, "Kiss Me" by Sixpence None The Richer.

There was really only one thing they could do.

They’d lost two in Nassau Coliseum, still a beautiful mess of a building with the drafty dressing rooms and rickety side boards. Too many bad bounces in a building that should never have been brought out of retirement. Nassau Coliseum that was older than any other NHL arena, except for Madison Square Garden. Nassau Coliseum that had hosted concerts from old old-timers his parents had listened to as he was growing up: Elvis Presley, Led Zeppelin, the Beach Boys.

Every minute of both games at the Coliseum, Sid felt like they were fighting not only these upstart Islanders, but also the spirits of every Isle who’d ever played here, including the those who won four cups in a row. It felt like Bossy, Trots, & Gillies and their teammates shared the seats with the fans, taunting _Murrrr-ray, Murrr-ray._

Coming back to the PPG should have been a gift. Home ice, home cooking.

It wasn’t.

Sid elbowed Geno. who was slowly stripping out of his sweaty UnderArmour. The third loss to the Isles hanging heavy in the changing room. “We gotta get them drunk,” he whispered, pulling Geno close to him. “Get them out of their heads.”

“Not good idea,” Geno said, fixing the collar of Sid’s dress shirt. “Someone will see us looking sad, take picture. Put on Twitter and Instagram. Don’t want Islanders to know they in our head.”

Sid stared at Geno and pulled out his phone. “You’re incredible.”

“I’m know. Is what you say last night.” Geno leered, waggling his eyebrows.

“That is not what I said last night.” Sid leaned closer, brushing his lips against the sensitive curve of Geno’s ear. “I said you were _fucking _incredible.”__

____

____

Geno’s breath shuddered. “Can’t say that here or I’m kiss you.”

“Do it, G. No balls.” Sid laughed, which felt too loud in the room, and felt guilty. They’d lost again when they should have won. On paper, the Pens were better than the Isles. But on ice? The Isles were hungrier, wanted it more, to be the giant slayer. He should maybe be more somber.

But when he was with Geno, he felt giddy, silly. Happy.

Geno smiled but didn’t rise to Sid’s challenge. “You not be happy if I’m kiss you here, because it not be little tiny kiss.” He waggled his eyebrows again. “Then everyone know about us.”

“Do you think they don’t know already?” Sid said, with the smallest hint of an earnest question. Geno, with his ‘accidental’ touches when he walked past Sid, brushing his hand across the rise of Sid’s ass in the dressing room and his lingering, too-fond glances as Sid spoke to him about the PK.

“I’m think hockey players busy all the time. Don’t see what in front of them.” Geno waved his hand around the room, with guys coming and going to the showers, or bunched in small groups replaying the game in their whispered arguments. “Think girls on Tumblr see, with their gifs and their stories, but no one listen to them.”

Sid tilted his head and stared at Geno’s grin. “What the—do you have a Tumblr?”

“Open site, Sid. Just need to google your name and _Tumblr._ ” Geno reached for his phone in the cubby at the top of his stall, but Sid stopped him.

“I got a party to plan.”

Geno laughed, and Sid decided that later, he’d have Geno show him some of those stories.

~*~

Turns out, when you’re Sidney Crosby, in less than five minutes you can call the hotel across the PPG parking lot, book a banquet room for 25 large men, convince the manager not only to re-open the kitchen, but also to supply servers willing to sign a non-disclosure clause, and free flowing booze.

A lot of booze. All the booze.

And reserve at least one room for the night.

“Listen up,” Geno yelled out of habit. “We go out now. All of us.”

The guys let out one loud groan.

“No way, G. I just want to go home and—” Jack Johnson said without raising his head.

“C’mon, Geno. I can’t—” Murr was still buckled into his leg pads, still slumped on the bench.

“I’m not ask. I’m tell. Sid plan for long time.”

Sid snerked quietly but didn’t say anything.

The grumbles subsided, which Sid took as a good sign. If anyone could wrangle the personalities on the team, it was G.

“Take showers, we go together. As team.” Geno nodded his head, which Sid knew was the sign that the discussion was closed and if someone tried to override him, he’d be slapped with a hefty fine.

Slowly the guys moved toward the showers, tossing their sweaty uniforms in the canvas laundry carts on the way, or out into the hall to make phone calls. 

Sid and Geno were alone. 

“Nothing wrong with my balls,” Geno said and turned Sid to him. He kissed Sid slow and so fucking filthy that Sid wondered if they could stop by the room before showing up at the party.

Geno pulled back, and Sid couldn’t think over the tattoo of his heartbeat. He barely registered Geno’s smirk when he walked away, leaving Sid to watch his bare ass as he headed to the shower.

Sid’s strangled _unggggh_ was the only proper response.

Jake stopped at Sid’s stall. “Are you mad? Did Geno say something?” Jake asked as he combed his snarled hair. “He doesn’t usually carry his towel into the showers all bunched up in front of him like that. Is he ok?”

_Oh, Jake._ Sid shook his head. _How_ did he not know what was going on with them. “He’s fine. He’s just—”

“He’s just embarrassed by how small his dick is,” Tanger hollered from the other side of the locker room.

Sid felt his cheeks heat. Poor Jake had no idea Tanger was setting him up.

Jake tilted his head as he thought. “But I’ve seen Geno’s—y’know—and it’s—y’know—” He held his hands apart like he was measuring, and then moved them even farther apart.

Tanger had snuck up on Jake from behind; he reached around Jake and spread his hands even wider.

“No way!” Jake sounded shocked until the rest of the guys burst out laughing and launched things at him. Sid counted several wet towels and at least one game worn sock.

Whistling a fragment of a song, Geno strolled back to his stall; he was naked, his body still beaded with water.

“Hi! Geno!” Jake’s voice cracked as he struggled to keep his eyes above Geno’s waist. “We were—uh—I—they’re laughing at me not—”

Based on Geno’s obvious confusion, Sid wasn’t sure he’d heard Jake over their teammates’ laughter and catcalls. “Why you look at me weird? Like eyes don’t blink?”

Jake strangled out a sound as he caved in and looked at Geno’s now half-hard dick. “Oh my God.” And Jake spun around, heading as quickly as he could toward his locker stall.

Through the laughter, Sid heard Tanger say, “I told you so.”

“I’m not even ask.” Geno shook his head and tugged on his white dress shirt over his still damp shoulders.

“Good idea.” Sid moved closer and said, “Also. They have no idea about us.”

“Maybe is better,” Geno whispered, his lips grazing Sid’s ear. “Otherwise, who know what I’m do here?”

Sid’s body responded to the warmth of Geno’s breath, wanted to drag the shirt back off him, find every bruise and kiss them til they were healed.

But he didn’t.

He had no idea what their teammates would say if they knew he loved Geno—was _in love_ with Geno. That they not only shared a house which they’d made a home, but also a life beyond hockey, a bed.

“A’right, last one ready has to pay the bar bill!” Sid’s voice cut through the locker room chatter. “Move ‘em out. Next stop is the Cambria Hotel.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid's party, with a ton of food and an open bar, is exactly what the guys needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you breathed any breaths in the late 90s/early 2000s, you know this song. If you need a refresher, please take a sec to watch [Sixpence None The Richer sing Kiss Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8N-qO3sPMjc)

Pure chaos. 

Absolute pandemonium.

It was _perfect._

Sid relaxed at a table the guys had pushed into a corner about thirty seconds after they’d rolled into the room. Actually, they’d pushed _all_ the tables out of the way, making a bigger dance floor for “all of Bjugy’s moves.” Sid rolled his beer bottle between his palms and watched the mayhem.

Schultzy adding an empty to his beer bottle tower. “Physics,” he slurred to Olli, who’d added plenty of his own empties to the tower. Cully egged them on, popping another cap and handing the beer to one or the other. Sid had seen Cully grab an empty early on and pretend to take swig. Sid flashed Cully a thumbs up, supporting his sobriety that few knew about. 

Dumo handing off the DJ duties to Zach Aston-Reese and grabbing the _Rock Band_ guitar from Horny. He joined Guentz, Weedle, and Rusty who were destroying Green Day.

Sid laughed when Jake offered him the microphone. “Nope. I’m good.”

“Then stop laughing at us!” Jake boomed over the microphone.

Bringing in gaming systems was genius. NHL19 in one corner of the room and _Rock Band_ in another was genius. When he paid the bill, Sid would include a generous tip because these people deserved it. 

What the manager had pulled together at 11 at night was incredible. One table was actual, nutritious food—a cold carving station with a Virginia ham and a variety of cheeses. Salad greens with the choice of sliced chicken or steak. Warm, crusty kaiser rolls. Tray after tray of cheesy lasagna. 

One table was pure junk food. A popcorn machine with fresh, hot popcorn. Chips and salsa. Fat homemade pretzels with beer cheese. Brownies. A tub of vanilla ice cream chilling in an ice bath. Bowls of sprinkles, jimmies, chocolate syrup, tiny marshmallows. 

And an open bar. Bottle after bottle of I.C. Light. Wine for Dumo and Rusty. Jack and Coke for Guddy and Weedle. 

And ice-cold prune juice for Geno. 

Sid had never asked why, and Geno had never offered a reason. But Sid knew it was his guilty pleasure. Ice-cold prune juice in a frozen glass. 

The guys were happy and loose, having a great time and working together. No. _Playing together._ In the end, their jobs were still a game, still supposed to be fun. The day they stepped onto the ice with apathy and a _Fuck. Here we go again_ instead of with awe and overwhelming excitement was the day they needed to hang up their skates. 

And right now, judging from the laughter coming from all corners of the room, they were having fun as a team. Sid laughed at Dominik Simon, holding three beer bottles with one hand and a bowl of ice cream in another as he tried to avoid Bjugy’s attempt at breakdancing. 

Jared McCann hesitated before slipping into the seat next to Sid. “Hey—uh—thanks,” he said, more tipsy than drunk. “For this.” He looked at his empty glass and swirled the ice with his stirrer. “I know it’s not how you wanted playoffs to go—but man, it feels good to just be at the dance.”

Sid didn’t know how to answer. Jared was good—on his way to great. And he was young. He had a lot of playoffs ahead of him. “Yeah, I get that,” he finally said. Jared nodded, and when he stood, Sid held his wrist for a moment. “This isn’t our last one. Not your last one.”

Bjugy ran toward them and, at the last second, dropped to his knees and slid on the glossy, wooden dance floor. He grabbed Jared and drag him away to show the group their disco moves. ZAR played some BeeGees that they were all too young to remember, and to Sid, Jared’s “disco moves” were less Tony Manero and more Tony the Tiger. 

“We needed this.” Jack Johnson tumbled into the empty seat, careful not to spill his drink. “You did good.” He leaned over to hug Sid, and lost his balance, almost falling into the space between the two chairs. “You’re a great captain. The best. We’re lucky to have you. Geno’s lucky to have you.”

“What does that mean?” Sid asked, taking a sip of his beer. Was he talking about _them?_

“As a captain,” Jack said with a touch of _duh_ in his tone. “How much have you had to drink??”

Sid laughed. “Not as much as you, bud.”

“Glad I’m playing with you again.” Jack struggled to his feet. He dropped a wet kiss on the top of Sid’s head before straggling off across the dance floor. 

_God bless that man._ Sid laughed as Jack told the bartender some story that involved dramatic hand gestures and a lot of mime.

“If he weave and dodge like that on ice, we make him winger,” Geno laughed, taking Jack’s place next to Sid. “Better than on D.”

Sid jumped at a loud crash; physics failed Schultzy and Olli as the beer bottle pyramid collapsed.

“We’re not hurt!” Schultzy yelled over the _Rock Band_ noise without realizing the game was paused 

Jake, who was lying in the middle of the dance floor—Sid didn’t know if it was because he was too wasted to stand or he was still trying to copy Bjugy’s breakdancing—began a slow clap that caught on, echoed in the room until Olli and Schultzy bowed. 

Cully stood against the wall looking innocent. 

“Mr. Crosby, I’m sorry to bother you.” The manager looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes. He stifled a yawn. “Did you have a closing time in mind, or would you like us to bring out breakfast?”

Sid looked at his watch. “Jeez, I didn’t realize it was after 4.” He looked around—most of the guys were flagging, in quiet conversation at tables or, in Olli’s case, passed out on the floor.

“Can kitchen make bacon egg sandwich for all?” Geno asked, pushing his empty glass away. “Grease and bread. Hangover be less bad. And can get maybe ten rooms for them? Not want them to drive.” The manager left, and Geno said to Sid, “Not want Uber to see. Maybe say online.”

Sid looked at Geno and _love_ hit him square in the chest, took his breath away, and left him shocked but not surprised. Late nights, long weekends, sneaking into each other’s room on the road late at night. Waking up a few minutes early to watch G sleep— _in a totally, non-creepy way._ When he slept, G looked youthful, his face unlined with worry and stress, like he did the night they met in 2006.

It was never just Friends With Benefits, was it? 

Sid’s heartbeat raced, as if it knew he was standing on the edge of a precipice ready to step off. He could fall. But, what if he flew? What if Geno felt the same, that they were good, so very good, and any risk was worth the reward?

“You’re—that’s—good idea, G,” Sid whispered, afraid if he spoke his voice would give away his feelings. “We should wake them up, let them eat, before we kick them upstairs.” 

They pushed away from the table to the sound of several guys snoring and Zach’s 1990s alt music; Zach had fallen asleep at a table, his head cushioned on his arms and the iPhone still resting against the microphone. 

“I love this song,” Sid said as the track changed. “My mom used to play it all the time. Sometimes, she’d dance with my dad when it was on the radio.”

_Kiss me, out of the bearded barley  
Nightly, beside the green, green grass…_

Geno held out his hand to Sid and nodded toward the dance floor. “Dance?” 

Sid looked around the room at the passed-out bodies. There was no one to see, and even if there were, maybe that was okay.

He took Geno’s hand, followed him to the small open space on the dance floor between bodies. Geno wrapped his arms around Sid’s waist, his hands resting on Sid’s ass. To Sid, it felt proprietary, that he was Geno’s for everyone to see.

_Swing, swing, swing the spinning step_  
You wear those shoes  
And I will wear that dress… 

“Is okay?” Geno asked as he turned slowly with Sid. “I’m not know how to dance slow so good.”

Sid rested his head against Geno’s shoulder. “Perfect.”

_Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance_  
Silver moon's sparkling  
So kiss me… 

“So kiss me,” Geno echoed and lifted Sid’s chin. Tentatively, Geno leaned closer until their lips almost touched. “I’m kiss you?” he asked, his breath warm against Sid’s lips. 

Sid nodded, his feelings too raw to speak. 

They kissed softly as the music played, kissed as if they were the only two in the room, in the world. Kissed as if it were a promise of forever. 

“I love you,” Sid said as the song ended. “I think I always have.” 

“You say hello for first time, and I’m think, he could be friend. Then I’m know that you much more.” Geno kissed him again and said, “I’m love you.”

The clatter of metal on metal made them jump apart. The manager had somehow dropped the dome top against the serving tray as he wheeled the cart into the room. “Sorry. So sorry. Just clumsy.” 

Sid thought, judging from his grin, that it probably had been on purpose to warn them he was there. 

When they turned to rouse the guys, Sid and Geno realized that almost all of them were awake, sitting up and grinning, Cully the widest of anyone. 

“Finally realized?” Tanger asked, his voice bright and clear.

“I guessed as much,” Cully added.

Horny rubbed his chin. “I think they together for year, two years.”

“How are you guys even awake?” Sid balked. “You were sound asleep.”

Almost in unison, the three said, “Kids.”

“Kids always wake you up in the middle of the night, and you have to be 100 percent awake immediately.” Cully grinned wider as everyone laughed.

“Is not for advice or chirping,” Geno said, waving his hand between him and Sid. “Not want.”

“Wait. Are you guys—” Jake raised his head slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 

“Yes, we are,” Sid said in his captain voice. “Now can we just have breakfast?”

A few guys groaned, but most of them shuffled over for a sandwich and a room key. They left in small groups, and some joker had hit the light switch leaving Geno and Sid alone in the darkened room. The ballroom’s glass doors led outdoors to a patio, and they could see the first hints of dawn.

“I didn’t know what they’d think,” Sid said. He felt awkward, like a teenager again, unsure what to do or say. 

“They think we best,” Geno said simply. “On ice and off. I’m think they know I love you. Not think I’m hide it so good.”

“I don’t think I hid it so good, either,” Sid said crowding Geno, who seemed happy to be crowded. “I got us a room. Want to show me how much you love me?”

“Don’t know if we have time,” Geno said as they left. “Have game day after today.” He slid his hand into Sidney’s and waited for the elevator to arrive.

It wouldn’t be enough time, Sid knew. But then, they had all summer to show each other. All year. All their future. Maybe even that wouldn’t be enough. “It’s a start,” Sid smiled and said, “So, kiss me.”


End file.
